Letting Go
by Egyptian Dreamer
Summary: Confronted with the painful truth about his existence, Harry opts to sacrifice his life to save everyone else. However, the way he goes about it surprises even himself. And perhaps, it's not just his allies that end up being saved. Because sometimes, letting go isn't so bad. Contains character death.


**A/N: It's going to be fairly sappy. You've been warned. If you don't like, don't read.**

***~Letting Go~***

Green eyes flickered dully, gazing at one empty portrait frame to the next. Their usual occupants were absent, having scattered all over the castle in search of a relatively unharmed portrait to observe the destruction that had befallen their precious school, to bear witnesses to every single one of their students' passing. Their duties as Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses didn't end with dying. And right now, all they could do was be there, alongside the Professors and students that battled on.

His gaze finally came to rest upon the large frame behind the desk, feeling utterly numb.

It didn't surprise him that Dumbledore wasn't present. His concern for this school and its occupants could rival no other's.

Surprisingly enough, Harry was glad. He didn't want to face the elderly man right now. He feared seeing the confirmation in those serene eyes. It'd only make the betrayal all the more real. It'd make the pain in his chest unbearable.

A bitter, empty laugh slipped past his lips as Harry pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, rubbing furiously before that familiar stinging sensation could transform into tears. Sucking in a deep breath, he lowered his arms and let his gaze drift to the side, where he had deposited the items he had been carrying with him.

The soot that covered every inch of the windows' surface, combined with the stormy sky outside, bathed the two artifacts in a eerie darkness, clouding their natural shine.

Both the gold of Hufflepuff's Cup and the platinum of Ravenclaw's Diadem, now resembled a mixture of black-grey.

Blood was also smeared on them, which was starting to crust by now.

Harry hadn't allowed Ron and Hermione to hold the treasures, choosing to receive the full blunt of their scorching touch himself. It appeared that Voldemort had placed a curse on the Diadem that was similar to that of the Cup's; burning everything their surface came in contact with. Harry was surprised he had been able to hold his wand all this time in the state that his hands were.

He had refused his friends' plan to put the decaying Basilisk fangs in the Chamber of Secrets to use. Brilliant as that idea was, Harry had a feeling that the Horcruxes would prove more useful intact.

Looking at them now, he wished he had listened to reason after all, and gotten rid of them while it was still early.

It was spitefully ironic how he had brought this upon himself, as if fate had come to bite him in the ass.

He pushed his sweat and blood matted bangs out of his eyes before using his arms to haul himself from the floor, legs quivering too dangerously for his liking once he was upright. Scoffing, he turned to face the items, bracing for the inevitable. Inhaling greedily, he felt his shoulders slump, too fatigued to withstand the immense burden that had been placed on them any longer.

"_**Ssshow yourssselvesss." **_

Harry had to plant the soles of his feet firmly on the tiles to prevent himself from jumping backwards the moment black smoke burst from the Horcruxes. It erupted in twin swirls, two tiny tornadoes that hovered above each treasure, restless in their dance.

"_**It'sss alright,"**_Harry said softly, and they stirred at the flawless Parseltongue that spilled smoothly from his lips.

He took out Malfoy's wand, making their twirls gain speed upon recognition of a threat, but Harry just cast the wooden stick aside. He stretched out both arms, presenting them with his empty hands.

"_**Come,"**_he commanded, voice firm and steady. _**"Come to me."**_

They came to an abrupt halt, as if stunned, before both swirls sprung into action, eager to finally possess something besides useless objects.

Each smoke picked a hand, crawling up Harry's arms in identical spiraling patterns, and merging into one once they reached his neck. Harry dug his teeth into the flesh of his lower lip, tasting coppery blood in an attempt to keep at bay the cries that had risen to his throat. A thin layer of blackness was spreading gradually over his entire body, stinging all the places it touched. When it moved towards his face, however, it felt like tiny needles were sinking into his skin, burning every pore and causing Harry to throw his head back and scream. Seconds later, he was submerged from top to bottom into blackness.

The agonized cry died on his lips, and slowly, the dark cloud sank into his flesh before vanishing completely, like it had never existed in the first place.

Harry fell down to all fours, gasping for breath and with every nerve in his body aching. Wheezing, he lifted his head to look at the now void artifacts. And as he remained like that, trying to regain his strength and oxygen, more and more crimson flecks began bleeding into his pupils… until there was no more green left.

***)&(***

It was cruel how so many good memories of a place could morph into something vile and bitter.

Dirt and dried blood covered the floor of the Great Hall and crunched under Ron's feet as he walked. A room that was usually filled with loud laughter, cheerful exclaims and boisterous chatter – filled with so much _life _– now stood broken, devoid of the very thing that made up the Great Hall. Muffled sobs, silent crying, and whispered instructions to those that treated the wounded echoed all around him, the atmosphere of plain despair nearly suffocating him.

He passed many familiar faces, most of them lifeless and still, but even the alive ones made no move to acknowledge him.

They were too busy attending to their injuries, or in mourning, for something as trivial as that.

"How's he fairing?" he asked, crouching next to a kneeling Hermione.

The young witch didn't respond immediately. She corked the vial of Dittany, before sweeping her brow with her sleeve. "I closed up the wound as much as I could, but the tissue is just too severed in some places to be restored by Essence of Dittany. He needs proper medical care."

Ron heaved a sigh, well aware that that wasn't an option in their situation.

His gaze drifted down to Neville's unmoving form, and tried not to cringe at the sight. A part of his left shoulder was missing, having come in direct contact with Voldemort's own Blasting Curse.

Their enemies' leader had joined the fray after his troops kept failing to track down Harry. While engaged in a fight with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, Neville had grasped the chance to carry out the task Harry had given all of them before disappearing somewhere in the castle; if given the opportunity, kill Voldemort's familiar, Nagini.

Wielding the sword of Gryffindor, Neville – in a surprising feat of agility and accuracy – had struck the snake down, cutting its head clean off. However, he couldn't dodge the wrath of Voldemort's retaliation.

That had been almost an hour ago, and Neville still hadn't regained consciousness.

Voldemort had retreated for the time being, fed up with searching for Harry and coming up empty handed. His voice had echoed throughout Hogwarts, informing them of the reprieve he was giving them so they could gather their dead, and of the one hour limit that Harry had to show in the Forbidden Forest. And should the young savior ignore his summons, the battle that'd commence next would be their last.

"You don't think he went, right?" Ron asked abruptly, turning wary eyes towards Hermione.

The girl's face lost whatever little color it had, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times. "He wouldn't…He isn't an idiot! Of course he wouldn't-!"

But her eyes, contradicting her own words, were frantic as they implored Ron to agree, needing the reassurance. Ron looked away, unable to bring himself to say the words both of them desperately craved to hear.

Hermione stood up suddenly, startling Ron into action. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds, sharing their mutual understanding that their best friend was _indeed _an idiot when it came to these things, and unthinkably impulsive to top. Simultaneously, they turned on their heels, bolting for the entrance to go search for him before –

"_Tom," _Harry's voice, magnified with the Sonorus spell, halted them in their tracks.

"_I won't be doing as you asked. If you would come to the castle, though, I have something that belongs to you. And I believe you know what it is." _And just like that, his voice faded away.

Silence, absolute and petrifying, reigned over the entire Hall.

Until a scream, feral and enraged, tore through the air like a whip, bouncing off the walls and shattering whatever windows had managed to evade destruction.

Shouts rose in the room, most of the students covering their heads to protect themselves against the raining pieces of glass and debris.

While the Professors hurried to produce shields against the bigger and undoubtedly harmful rubbles, McGonagall rushed over to them, her hair disheveled. "Granger, Weasley!" she huffed out the moment she came within hearing distance, "What is going on? Has he figured out some sort of plan?"

"We don't know, professor." Hermione said, shaking her head. "We haven't seen him during the past hour." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, stealing glances towards the entrance as if expecting Harry to burst through at any moment.

McGonagall suppressed a sigh, eyes softening slightly at the concerned expressions of her former students. "If it's Potter, I'm certain he will manage."

Ron's eyebrows drew close together. "Yeah, let's hope so."

Hermione rubbed furiously at her eyes. "I swear, if Voldemort doesn't kill him simply for calling him by his name, I definitely will."

***)&(***

It was peculiar, but as he stood waiting by the gates, Harry felt at ease.

The anxiety and mind numbing pain that had been consuming him in Dumbledore's old office no longer fazed him. Instead, some sort of apprehension was tingling his insides, but that too was so minor that it could easily be ignored. There was only one more thing that needed to be done now, and Harry had already come to terms with it.

And that acceptance was making him feel so peaceful, like he could breathe undeterred again.

In the distance, a massive dark crowd was starting to fill out of the Forest, slowly making its procession towards the castle. And behind him, Harry could hear approaching footsteps, signaling the arrival of the people from within.

"Harry," Ron and Hermione called out, and even without turning, Harry could already see them coming towards him.

He extended out a hand, listening to their footsteps pausing.

"Guys, no matter what you see, please don't do anything reckless. I'm asking you as a favor."

"Harry –" Ginny started, her tone pleading and frantic.

"All of you." Harry emphasized, feeling guilty for brushing off their concern in such a way, but resolute in his decision.

He wouldn't allow any of them to get hurt.

The Death Eaters were there at last, a dozen or so black clad bodies amidst the ruined courtyard, like numerous Grim Reapers that had come to be fed. And at their lead, in all his monstrous glory, the Dark Lord himself.

Those hellish orbs were spitting fire as they landed on Harry, emitting all the fury that his features didn't.

Not wanting him to snap and start dishing out lethal Curses, Harry stretched out his arm so that it was in the man's view.

"Here," he said, tossing the two objects he had been holding.

They landed a good few feet ahead, their clanking sound nearly deafening in the silence that had filled the open space around them.

Voldemort's eyes followed their movements obsessively for a while, as if disbelieving what they were seeing, before they jerked back to Harry with a speed that should be humanly impossible. If they had been furious before, now they were seething as Voldemort took a menacing step forward, his spidery fingers twitching uncontrollably.

Harry wondered briefly if they were mimicking the actions they hungered to perform on his neck.

"I didn't destroy them," he hurried to clarify, fearing the consequences if he didn't, "I just provided them with a different vessel."

Voldemort stopped dead in his tracks, wrinkles morphing on his forehead. He glanced at his Horcruxes, then back at Harry, eyes blazing as he contemplated the conclusion that the boy's words led to.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Harry's lips as he blinked, and Voldemort reared back in shock at the bright crimson that greeted him once they reopened.

"Besides," Harry began, hand coming to rest on his torso, "What's two more Horcruxes when you've already got one dwelling in you?"

"How?" Voldemort hissed lowly.

"It doesn't matter how." Harry said, advancing forward. "What's important is that it's over, Tom."

Voldemort's teeth grinded together, brandishing his bone-white wand at Harry.

Harry wasn't fazed, though. "You can't harm me, Tom. Not when you'd be harming yourself."

He closed the distance between them with steady steps, rising on his toes to wrap both arms around the man, feeling Voldemort recoil violently at his touch and only strengthening his hold.

He ignored the choking sounds that surrounded them from every direction.

"They showed me everything, Tom!" he whispered, and Voldemort suddenly paused in his vicious struggle.

"You were lonely, weren't you?" he went on, voice loud enough only for the other wizard to hear. "Lonely and bitter."

"Potter, I'm warning you," Voldemort growled, his arms lifting as much as possible from underneath Harry's to claw at the teen's back, actually tearing through the shirt and scraping his flesh.

Harry clenched his jaw against the pain, fingers clumping down on his borrowed wand and wordlessly performing the Summoning Spell.

"I've always been the only one that could take the full blunt of your anger." he muttered, more to himself, but Voldemort's chest rumbled dangerously at the words.

"Potter-!" A strangled breath of air passed through Voldemort's lips, the rest of his sentence hanging unfinished. In response, Harry's hands fisted the fabric of his robes, the teen's entire frame tensing painfully. Slowly, Voldemort's gaze drifted lower, catching only a glimpse of a ruby hilt protruding from the small of the boy's back, before he shut his eyes tightly at the excruciating wave that jostled through his body.

"You've already damaged the world, Tom." Harry said, pausing to regain his breath. "More so than it damaged you."

Voldemort coughed violently, feeling liquid stain his lips and the other's arms tightening around him as his body shook. His arms slipped down, limp against his sides.

Another shock of pain engulfed him, setting his every muscle on fire and causing his legs to fold beneath him.

He fell to his knees, and Harry slid down with him, not once letting go.

Tremors had risen unwittingly along his skin, and he could hear his own breathing turning louder, the pulse in his veins beating in a frenzied tempo.

"Shh, it's alright." Harry whispered next to his ear, before drawing back, not releasing his grip but putting enough space between them to look at him.

"Death is nothing to be afraid of, Tom." he said softly, soothingly. "Living is so much harder. We know that better than anyone, right?"

Voldemort found himself unable to look away from those eyes, so similar to his own and so utterly different at the same time. He watched mutely as they filled with tears, welling up until they finally spilled down the boy's cheeks. He followed their trail almost curiously, unable to comprehend their appearance.

"…Why?" he uttered between pants.

Harry's lips stretched out into a gentle smile, a thin line of blood sliding down from the corner of his mouth at the action. "Because no one else is going to cry for you."

His smile turned sad suddenly. "You suffered, didn't you, Tom?"

He buried his face in the man's clothed chest, soaking the black material. "But it's alright now." he sobbed quietly, gripping the Dark Lord firmer, "You can let go."

Voldemort stood motionless, staring at all the faces behind the boy's back. They were stricken with sorrow, shedding tears and sobbing their hearts out.

He always considered emotions as one's major weakness.

Scarlet eyes rose upwards the moment a droplet landed on his cheek, observing as the clouds above them darkened further. Rain was soon falling down, enveloping everyone within its icy embrace.

Was the sky crying for the boy as well?

How ludicrous was this? People and nature alike were mourning for Potter and rather than acknowledge them, Harry Potter was holding onto the Dark Lord like a lifeline, shedding tears for said Dark Lord.

And why?

Simply because nobody else was willing to do it.

That was Potter's reasoning.

"_You suffered, didn't you, Tom?"_

…Did he…?

'_**Why are they looking at me like that?' **_That was what his younger self had thought.

'_**Why are you looking at a child with such hateful eyes? What did I do to you?'**_

That was before his powers had even started to show. Had the caretakers sensed that something was different with him? Being a little child, he couldn't understand why they were all so cold towards him.

Then, his magic became known to him.

'_**Am I a monster?'**_

He had been terrified back then. The other children were calling him a freak before he had even started figuring out the things he could do. Did it mean that they were right all along?

'…_**Stop it. Don't l-look at me like t-that.'**_

But as the years passed and the treatment only got worse, he gradually grew spiteful. Anger flourished deep within him, withering his soul and making him into something corrupt at an age that should have been filled with innocence and naivety.

He no longer cared about the names he was called, or the glares he was given. He never tried to deny their accusations again, or persuade them otherwise.

'_**I know! If I gouge out your eyes you won't look at me like that ever again! Will you let me? Well, I guess it doesn't matter whether I have your permission. I'm a demon after all!'**_

And he did. At least with a rabbit. Billy Stubbs had been searching high and low for his lost pet, worrying about the animal's well being. And Tom had helped him find it. After gouging its eyes out, he had hung it from the rafters, at plain sight for Billy to find.

'_**So pretty…Can I make you pretty too? I want to paint you like I painted that rabbit. Yes, let me paint you red!'**_

He had been very unstable during his days at the orphanage. So calm on the outside, while plotting and scheming on the inside.

It was only after he had started attending Hogwarts that bits and bits of his sanity came back to him. He found that with the right knowledge and a charming smile, he could finally make people respect him. The looks he received were no longer of spite, but of admiration and devotion.

Still, they weren't genuine.

If any of them knew his true self, that darker and insane part that lay dormant, their eyes would turn like the people's at the orphanage.

"_You've already damaged the world, Tom. More so than it damaged you."_

Yes, now that he thought about it, he guessed he really had.

What had started out as a mere experimentation to lengthen his own limits had ended up rather tragically. After the first Horcrux had been created, he should have stopped. But he had hungered for more and the longer he mutilated himself, the more of the old madness resurfaced, stronger than ever and with the intention to stay.

Still…

A mere boy of seventeen – literally a child compared to his own years – had smiled and shed tears for him. Even after having glimpsed the blackness of his soul on numerous occasions, that boy had mourned for him rather than mourn for his own death, or the people he was leaving behind.

Voldemort felt his breathing even out, no longer rapid and harsh. And as he stared up at the sky, it was like the rain washed away his anxiety, bringing him back from the edge of hyperventilation.

Harry sniffed, drawing back slightly. "Tom," he called out quietly, and red orbs lowered to connect with his own.

A coughing fit caused his eyes to widen and his chest to ache. Every single breath he took burnt his lungs. Blood was smeared all over his lips by the time it was over, but Harry paid it no heed.

Panting, he reached up to touch his forehead with Voldemort's, watching those scarlet pools watch him.

"It's alright to let go for once."

Voldemort blinked slowly, lethargically.

"…How can you be like this when your childhood was so similar to mine? Even with three parts of my soul within you, why are you so untainted?" He panted harshly, out of breath, forcing his sight from straying.

He could sense Potter's smile on his face. "Because I choose to."

"…"

"As infuriating as always…" he whispered slowly, pressing back against the cool skin against his.

His eyelids fluttered a couple of times, finding red pools gazing unwaveringly at him each time they managed to reopen. It was as if they wanted to comfort him, reassure him that they would still remain even if he didn't look, that they wouldn't abandon him at this moment. He blinked once more, before his eyes slid shut permanently.

Harry exhaled, long and deep, feeling drowsier than ever.

Faintly, he thought he could hear cries of his name, but he was just too exhausted to turn his head the other way.

His arms grew slack around Voldemort's shoulders. The moment his eyes fluttered and didn't open again, both their bodies disappeared in a burst of black smoke. It floated for a moment in the air, swirling slowly, before it turned into ash, falling down on the ground and merging with the pouring rain.

Amongst the ashes, the sword of Gryffindor lay, the blood that covered its entire blade slowly washing away and onto the ground, where it was sucked into the earth along with the ashes.

***)&(***

Wails, cries and sobs welled up the entire Great Hall, reminiscent of a setting so familiar and yet so much grimmer than before.

The battle was over, and so was the war. No more people lost their lives fighting; children just barely on the brim of adulthood didn't meet a premature death.

Still, the people mourned as if they had lost another precious person.

And to some of them, Harry James Potter had been such a person; irreplaceable.

Ron fell to his knees next to his brother's corpse, taking in the unmoving body that never again was going to smile and laugh.

Beside him, George did the same, grasping his twin's hand and bringing it close to his face. Tears spilled from former mirthful eyes, splashing down on the skin of Fred's sickly white fingers.

Their mother was bent over the person next to Fred, weeping softly into the crook of Percy's cold neck.

Ginny was wrapped in their father's embrace, soaking his ruined shirt with hot tears and shaking uncontrollably from head to toe.

Arthur Weasley lifted his tear streaked face from his daughter's disheveled, flaming red hair in order to snake an arm around a shivering Hermione's shoulders. He brought the girl close, and she buried her face in his shoulders and just wept.

No one questioned why these people appeared to be mourning for the two children they had already mourned.

None of them needed to hear the repeated, muffled mutterings of a single name to know that their tears were for someone else; a person just as important.

Because no matter how much the children and Professors wept for the boy that had unselfishly given away his own life for their sake, they knew they couldn't compare to how much Harry's loss had struck the small group.

And as the entire Great Hall sank into the dark abyss of sorrow, no one took notice of the missing half of Fred's face that slowly started to wove back together, the tissue recreating itself into the taut flesh of its former glory. Similar wounds from other explosions, or lethal Curses that had been inflicted on the numerous dead bodies that littered the whole room were beginning to close up, healing themselves soundlessly to restore their owners' flesh to what it used to be.

Even as this momentous event occurred, not a single soul bared witness to it, and they'd continue to do so until every single one of their lost ones opened their mouth as one and sucked in a deep gulp of air – as if inhaling back their very souls.

A state of confusion and perplexity spread out over the gathered crowd, broken only by the coughs and gasps of the slowly rising people.

The entire Weasley family and Hermione blinked as one, ignorant to the uproar around them save for Fred and Percy who were both sitting up.

Percy winced as he straightened his back, arms lifting to stretch high above his head.

Fred was about to follow after his example when he realized one of his hands was clasped between George's. Blinking profusely to clear away the haze in his head, he grinned widely at his brother, blue eyes lighting up with ill concealed amusement. "Are we going to introduce ourselves, or what?"

Next thing he knew, his back reconnected with the floor and he found his arms full of George.

Percy was by now suffering the same fate by a sobbing Mrs. Weasley.

"Fred!" cried Ginny, flinging herself at her brother who removed one hand from around his twin to accept his sister.

"Mum! Yes, of course it's me! Mum, would you please calm down? Dad! Dad, do something!" a flustered Percy cried out, seeking help in order to calm a crying Mrs. Weasley.

Not that his father could be of assistance, though. The older man was too busy wiping the overflow of tears.

"Hey, there, Ronnikins." Fred reached out to ruffle Ron's hair, smiling at his younger brother's dumfounded expression and waving wildly at an equally speechless Hermione.

The girl smiled broadly at him, eyes shimmering with tears as she continued patting Mr. Weasley's back.

And from the shadows, a figure watched mutely, savoring their happy faces and committing them to memory.

"Hmm? Oh, would you stop already?" a male voice said, unbothered about keeping quiet. "I told you it was just this once."

An unbidden sigh passed through the person's lips. "Yes, I promise I will let you deal with the others that'll follow as you please. These were all children, though, and it wasn't fair for their lives to end so early."

Shaking his head, he abandoned the safety of the shadows and made his way over to the small group.

The rustling of his black cloak went unnoticed, and so did his presence. Anyone that strayed too close, simply passed right through his form, unaware of having ever done so. Soundlessly, he came to a stop, a mere observer as the people he cherished laughed and smiled.

Ginny's cheeks were dusted pink from the excessive amount of laughter, causing a wave of affection to surge through him.

Mr. Weasley and Percy were bent over a hysterical Mrs. Weasley, fanning their hands over her face and muttering reassurances. Fred and George were whispering close together, the latter not once letting go of his brother's hand. He, too, felt his lips quirking when Fred shoved his twin playfully, interlacing their fingers.

Then, his gaze drifted over to the only two people a few feet away from the family. Their fingers were clasped firmly around one another's, temples touching. They had extracted themselves from the others, unable to share their joy as much as they craved.

"Harry…" Hermione choked out, eyes shutting to prevent more tears from sliding down.

Ron's face scrunched up in a brave attempt to do the same, tightening his grip in search of an anchor.

If he could have one last wish, it would be this. Let him take them in his arms once more, and he'd never ask for anything again. He stepped closer, toes only a hair's breath away from theirs, and just looked at them. He wanted to remember every single detail of their faces, needing this moment to phase the eternity that awaited him.

His arms lifted slowly, wrapping around their shoulders with the palms of his hands resting at the back of their heads, mindful not to apply too much pressure. He allowed them to ghost just over their forms, listening as their breathing hitched just slightly.

"You have no idea how glad I am for meeting you." he whispered, "Rebuild our home along with everyone, so that the future generation can enjoy it as much as we did."

"Thank you for giving me your friendship. It meant the world to me." He allowed himself to breathe in their scent one last time, before withdrawing his arms.

He strode past them, refusing to glance back. And as Harry's body flickered away, both Ron and Hermione fell to the floor. They ignored the worried looks they received from everyone as they cried and laughed at the same time, clutching at each other.

The world was finally ready to move forward.

***)&(***

His head swiveled around, frantically searching for anything besides the vast whiteness that seemed to engulf him, spreading out in every direction.

Well, whiteness and those –

"_That's him, isn't it?"_

Oh, no! They were back.

Black silhouettes flickered in and out of sight, their frames distorted and their features unrecognizable.

"_The nerve of him! Strutting about so casually!"_

"_What did you expect? That he'd feel remorseful for sending us here?"_

He shook his head wildly. Why were these voices talking about things that made little to no sense to him?

"_That monster should just burn in some fiery pit for his crimes."_

"_A cold-blooded murderer doesn't belong here!"_

"_He tortured me for information! When there was nothing left of value to him he killed me, just like that!"_

"_I died for him! And look at the powerful Lord Voldemort now!"_

His pace increased, itching to get away but knowing his small legs couldn't carry him far. Not to mention that the voices always seemed to track him down.

"_That demon should have never been born!"_

"_I bet he killed his own mother from his blood-lust! A killer from birth!"_

He clamped his hands down over his ears, trying in vain to keep out their hurtful words.

"_He tortured us every time we failed to accomplish a task as perfectly as he had wanted!"_

"Stop it, please…" he whimpered out, pressing down harder on his ears.

"_Stop, he says. Ha! Did you stop when I begged you?!"_

"_Did you stop when I crawled at your feet?!"_

"No, I don't know what you're talking about." he muttered, eyes glistening.

"_Demon!"_

"_Murderer!"_

"_MONSTER!"_

"STOP IT!" he hollered, falling to his knees. The tears he had been suppressing all this time finally sprung forth as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing and wailing. The sound seemed to magnify in the nothingness that surrounded him, causing him to shake violently.

"_You vile creature!"_

"_Filthy demon!"_

He was so scared. What was this place? He didn't like it here. He wanted to get away from this place and these people! And he was so scared, so-!

"Found you."

Hands suddenly gripped him, lifting him from the armpits and cradling him close against a black clothed chest.

Tom looked up through watery eyes, blinking at the hooded person that had taken him in their arms. Sensing his confusion, a kind smile tugged at the person's lips.

"My name is Harry. I was looking for you, Tom." 

"_What is he doing with that monster?!"_

Tom tensed, every single question on his mind fleeing as his body grew rigid. He sobbed again, small hiccups rocking his entire frame.

"Don't listen to them." Harry whispered softly, stroking his head. "Shh, it's alright, Tom. I've got you now." His hand went to rubbing tiny little circles on the child's back, whispering soothing words as he turned and left, searching for the area that the gentler souls occupied.

Tom was sniffing still, but his sobs had at last lowered to a minimum. He had his face buried in Harry's cloak, gripping the fabric in his little fists.

Harry chuckled lightly at the adorable sight the former Dark Lord was making. His feet came to a stop and he closed his eyes, summoning to him the people he was seeking.

Four white spheres gathered before him in a semi circle, taking the form of people after a short while.

They all smiled warmly at him, welcoming him home.

"Are you certain about this, Harry?" his father questioned, glancing warily at the huddled form in his arms.

His son's hold tightened defensively, making James blink.

"What children really need is love. If someone had been willing to give it to him, things might have turned out differently. And besides," he added, wiping one of Tom's eyes when the boy looked up at him, "he's always been my responsibility."

The four figures glanced at each other, all of them cocking an eyebrow before chuckling.

"We're so proud of you, sweetheart." Lily said, and James nodded his agreement.

"Marvelous, isn't he?" Sirius winked playfully at him, a wide grin stretching across his face, making Harry let out a laugh.

Shaking his head, Harry turned to the scarred man next to Sirius. "I've already taken Tonks back." Remus nodded gratefully. "Are you certain-"

"Positive." Remus cut him off. "I appreciate the offer, Harry, but Nymphadora isn't expecting me. I'm already home."

James and Sirius smiled broadly at this, sharing pleased looks between themselves.

Snorting, Lily turned back to her son. "You'll come visit when you aren't awfully busy, right?"

Harry nodded. "I promise."

Satisfied with his answer, the four figures favored him with one last smile before fading back into those pure-white little globes and scurrying away.

"Harry?" Tom asked once he was certain no more people were going to pop up. "Do I have to go back there now?"

"Weren't you listening?" Harry poked the five year old on the nose, causing the boy to scrunch up his face. "You're stuck with me."

Tom gnawed at his lower lip, looking uncertain. "For how long?"

"Let's see…" Harry seemed to ponder, a finger tapping at his chin thoughtfully. "How does forever sound?"

The smile he received was blinding.

_**THE END**_

**So, like? Dislike? What are your thoughts?**

**Christ, I've been up all night writing this and my brain has turned mushy. It's one of those times that inspiration suddenly hits you, and you can't rest until you put it on paper. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hibernate for a while.**

**Oh, yeah, I forgot. Harry did become Master of Death, for those of you wondering.**


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